Hiking in the Canadian Rocky Mountains

Canada kicks ass! Or at least, something of such order is what Richard preaches to me. He is, of course, Canadian, and we had once met in South America. We met while traveling, and we have traveled together. To Boston and to Amsterdam, and to the Rocky Mountains in his home-state Alberta, Canada. This latter trip we made in July, when most of the upper hiking trails were being opened again after the long northern winter.

We planned to hike the Kananaskis Park south of Banff, and Richard offered to organize the trip. During the week before departure, the hours in the office did not seem to end. But then, it was trip time again! I met with Richard in Calgary, from where we took off into the Mountains. The entrance to the park lies a couple of hours west of town, and soon we were dropped off at the starting point. It was arranged that we would be picked up at the exact same spot three days hence at noon.

The tail lights of our ride were just wallowing away on the curvy mountain road as we saw a sign at the start of our trail, stating that overnight trips were permitted only with valid licenses. I turned to Richard to reassure that we had such a ticket - but no reassurance I got! To cut a somewhat longer discussion short: For some reason or other, we were not in possession of such permit. What is one to do, then, out in the Rockies, with a ride to pop by in a mere three days but no permit? - To try it anyway, of course!

After a long hiking day, we then needed to find a place to spend the night. In order not be found by the mountain rangers, we decided to hide as deep in the mountains as possible. Up a hill, we waded through a creek, and finally came upon an opening, half covered by snow, that provided both a good campground and seclusion.

It was already dusk when we pitched our tent next to a snow field. As usual, I once more strolled around the tent before I would slide into the sleeping back. But suddenly, not far from our tent, I noticed a track of large spurs in the nearby snowfield. It took no long inspection to see that these were bear tracks! Richard, an outdoor-trained oil seeker of the northern territories of Canada by summer profession, identified the tracks as grizzly prints. This was an unforeseen situation: High up in the mountains and with night falling, it was neither easy nor safe to change location again. However, the tracks were not yet iced over, therefore still rather fresh. After some discussion, Richard and I agreed to fall asleep fast: What we don't hear or see can't scare us, right?

Our plan worked for me, but only until I heard a shrieking whistle right next to my ear. Richard, supposedly having heard the bear outside the tent, blew his alarm whistle with all the might of his lungs in order to alert the animal and drive it out of the area. Listening to the silence and peeping into the dark, I came to the conclusion that no animal was around. However, the procedure occurred once again shortly thereafter. We were in a clear dilemma: Just as well as the bear, the mountain rangers might hear us and start a search for lost hikers. Not quite what we were looking for, either.

It is amazing how in such situation, every tiny twig that moves turns into a huge grizzly bear outside the tent! It is safe to conclude, however, that my discussion with Richard about whether or not to blow the whistle that night would have been sufficient to keep any bear at bay. Needless to say that we were off and gone as soon as the sun sent the first ray of light over the mountain ridge, already wading back through the little creek, far down to the safer valley to catch up on some badly needed sleep.

The following days were less fearful: We managed to spot bear and moose, albeit from a safe distance. Ironically, upon leaving the park, we found a mountain ranger warning every hiker about the bears. With a bear skull and a fur, he called every hiker to caution. Richard and I had a good chuckle, that is for sure. Not as funny were the news that we heard soon thereafter: A jogger in another park had indeed been killed by a grizzly bear the same weekend, while another hiker was attacked by wolves.

We took an easy trip to Banff National Park after our bear adventure. A pleasant walk around Lake Louise was a perfect way to end an exciting vacation.

By the way, on that trip, I also learnt how to tell a grizzly from a black bear. Assume you climb a tree when the bear approaches. If the bear climbs after you, it is a black bear. If it tips the tree over, it is a grizzly bear!